Luke’s father was affectionately known to most in his small hometown as “Seed.” He had a remarkable ability to draw life from the soil, even in times when the rains didn’t come.
Luke didn’t share his father’s love for the land. He saw his father’s life as limiting, resenting the long hours he spent in the fields, the Georgia clay under the fingernails of his calloused hands, and the simplicity of his existence. He longed to escape the monotony of rural life and pursue a career in the bustling city. Wealth and status seemed far more appealing than the simple, hardworking life his father led.
“About ready to go, Luke?” his mother asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to get to the church early to make sure everything is like he wanted. I never thought this day would come so soon.”
On the short ride to the memorial service, Luke looked out the window in silence, lost in his thoughts. He saw stalks of corn standing in the fields, swaying in rhythm with the breeze, owing their lives to the one who planted and nurtured them. He smelled the breath of the peach orchard, remembering the sweetness of his grandmother’s prize-winning cobbler. His heart swelled with gratitude for the land that he had forsaken, pushed aside by the lure of fool’s gold.
As the fields passed by, Luke’s mind wandered to the countless hours he’d spent in his cramped city apartment, working tirelessly to climb the corporate ladder. The stress and loneliness he’d endured now seemed so trivial compared to the richness of his father’s life, rooted in the land and the community he served.
As the casket was lowered into the ground, the funeral director reached out his hand and said, “Son, this is the key that locked your daddy’s casket.”
His mother turned to him with tear-filled eyes and said, “I just don’t know how I will take care of all of this, Luke.”
Luke took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his decision lift. “I’m coming home, Mom. I suddenly can’t remember why I ever left.”
Calloused hands nurtured
Life from stubborn Southern soil
Love grew in green fields
Author’s Notes:
Actual events served as the inspiration for this story.
Unlike Thomas Wolfe who discovered that he “couldn’t go home again” to Asheville, NC, Luke reassessed his goals and values and realized that they were really grounded in the soil that he had previously rejected. Wonderful story!!
Sometimes “going home” is just what you need… there’s a lot of me in this story. Thanks, Miss Grace.
What a master of the short fiction you are, Jamison. How many sons and daughters have left behind the boring, back-breaking work of the land and the small town in search of “better things”, only to realize that better things were right before them?
A perfect Father’s Day story, Jamison. Expertly told and written, as always.
Many thanks, Pam… for leading the way and setting the bar high.
A powerful testament to the unbroken ties between a father and son ~ even when one may doubt, they exist. What a beautifully written story, Jamison…
“His heart swelled with gratitude for the land that he had forsaken, pushed aside by the lure of fool’s gold.”
(God works in wondrous ways!)
Thank you, dear K. For these words and many other things…
One of your greatest fans. Lovely story. Grief changes your life and the story shows that.
Jane, I am blessed to have you as a fan and, more importantly, as a friend. Thank you.